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FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 

REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM    TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/amtionOOsmit 


LAM)   OF    THK    KOiJLi.,    Fltti. 


R  tv.  s.r  -sivFith 


^^^p  " 


AX  M  P 


-  D.LOTHROP    ^  Co.,  _ 
BOSTON. 

Copyright  by 

D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY, 

1879. 


TO 


ALL     AMERICANS. 


HOME    OF    REV.    DR.    S.    F.    SMITH. 


REV.    DR.    S.     F.    SMITH 


s- 


THE    FAVORITE    CORNER. 


AMUEL 
Francis 
Smith,  the  author 
of  our  National 
Hymn  "  America," 
was  born  at  the 
North  End,  Boston, 
under  the  sound  of 
old  Christ  Church 
chimes,  October  21, 
1808.  He  attended 
the  Latin  School,  from  which,  in  1825,  (having  been 
a  medal  scholar)  he  entered  Harvard  College,  in  the 
same  class  with  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  the  late 
Judges  B.  R.  Curtis  and  G.  T.  Bigelow,  James  Free- 
man Clarke,  and  Chandler  Robbins.  Josiah  Quincy 
became  President  of  the  College  in  their  last 
year.  George  Ticknor  was  one  of  their  teachers, 
and  Charles  Sumner  (1830),  John  Lothrop  Motley 
and  Wendell  Phillips  (183 1)  were  in  the  classes 
next  below  them.  Mr.  Smith  passed  from  Cam- 
bridge to  the  Andover  Theological  Seminary,  in 
the  beautiful  town  of  that  name.  This  was  an  out- 
growth of  the  famous  Phillips  Academy,  at  whose 
centenary,  last  summer,  Dr.  Holmes  delivered  the 
poem,  and   about  which  he  and  others  have,  of  late 


years,  told  such  interesting  stories.  Professor  Stuart 
and  his  early  colleagues  in  the  Seminary  were  then  at 
the  height  of  their  usefulness  and  fame.  In  the  class 
above  Mr.  Smith  was  the  since  renowned  theologian, 
Professor  Park  ;  in  the  class  that  entered  next,  the 
late  Professor  Hackett. 

Upon  graduating,  in  1832,  Mr.  Smith  engaged  for 
a  year  in  editorial  labor.  He  was  ordained  to  the 
ministry  in  February,  1834,  and  went  to  Waterville, 
Me.,  preaching  as  pastor  in  the  Baptist  church,  and 
becoming  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  in  the 
college  there.  After  eight  years  thus  spent,  he  moved 
to  the  village  of  Newton  Centre,  Mass.,  which  has 
ever  since  been  his  home.  For  seven  years  he  was 
editor  of  the  "Christian  Review,"  and  for  twelve  years 
and  a  half,  until  July,  1854,  he  was  a  pastor  there. 

During  his  subsequent  residence  he  has  been  occu- 
pied in  general  literary  pursuits,  and  in  editorial  labor, 
largely  in  the  service  of  Christian  Missions,  to  which 
he  has  also  seen  a  useful  and  honored  son  devote 
himself  in  India. 

Mr.  Edwin  P.  Whipple  has  observed  that:  "Some 
of  the  most  popular  and  most  quoted  poems  in  our 
literature  are  purely  accidental  hits,  and  their  authors 
are  rather  nettled  than  pleased  that  their  other  pro- 
ductions should  be  neglected  while  such  prominence 


REV.  DR.  S.  F.  SMITH. 


is  given  to  one  " — instancing  T.  W.  Parsons,  and  his 
"  Lines  on  a  Bust  of  Dante."  It  was  once  intimated 
to  me  by  a  member  of  Dr.  Smith's  family,  not  that  the 
author  of  "America"  desired  prominence  for  other 
strokes  of  his  pen,  but  that  he  was  sometimes  a  little 
weary  with  that  accorded  to  the  one  which  is  so  often 
and  so  heartily  sung.  But  Dr.  Smith  has  probably 
settled  down  to  his  fate,  with  which,  indeed,  it  would 
be  particularly  vain  to  strive,  since  the  frequent  occa- 
sions of  using  the  national  hymn  furnished  by  the 
war  have  been  so  quickly  followed  by  those  of  patri- 
otic centenary  observances.  Very  appropriately,  too, 
the  effort  to  save  the  Old  South  has  enlisted  our 
poets,  drawing  attention  to  the  history  of  some  of  their 


early  famous  poems,  and  thus  seated  these  all  the 
more  firmly  in  popular  interest. 

Long  will  be  remembered,  by  all  who  were  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  attend  it,  the  entertainment  given  in  those 
old  walls  on  the  evening  of  May  4th,  1877.  Gover- 
nor Rice  presided,  and  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  and  Drs.  J.  F.  Clarke,  S.  F.  Smith, 
and  O.  W.  Holmes,  the  three  college  classmates,  read 
and  spoke  on  the  occasion. 

Dr.  Smith  told  the  story  of  "America."  The  late 
Mr.  William  C.  Woodbridge,  he  said,  brought  from 
Germany  many  years  ago  a  number  of  books  used  in 
schools  there,  containing  words  and  music,  and  com- 
mitted them  to  the  late  Dr.  Lowell  Mason,  who  placed 


DR.    SMITH'S    STUDY. 


them  in  Dr.  Smith's  hands,  asking  him  to  translate 
anything  he  might  find  worthy,  or,  if  he  preferred,  to 
furnish  original  words  to  such  of  the  music  as  might 
please  him.  It  was  among  this  collection  that,  on  a 
gloomy  February  day  in  1832,  the  student  at  Ando- 
ver  found  its  present  music  for  the  song  he  had  there 
composed  in  that  year.  It  may  here  be  observed  that 
much  discussion  has  occurred  in  England,  within  a 
year,  as  to  the  origin  of  this  air,  which,  in  18 15,  it  is 
said,  served  for  the  national  anthem  in  England,  in 
Prussia  and  in  Russia,  it  being  superseded  in  the 
latter  country  only  about  a  generation  ago.  "  Like 
the  English  constitution,"  remarked  the  Daily  News, 
"it  has  gone  through  a  series  of  developments,  and 


such  a  history  is  not  unbecoming  in  the  case  of  a  truly 
national  air."  It  has  sometimes  been  claimed  that 
Handel  composed  and  introduced  it  into  England, 
but  the  researches  of  Chappell,  and  of  the  Germans, 
Fink  and  Chrysander,  Handel's  biographer,  agree  in 
ascribing  the  original  strain  to  the  Englishman,  Henry 

Carey  (169 1743),  who  has  another  title   to  fame 

in  the  authorship  of  "  Sally  in  our  Alley." 

Before  Dr.  Smith  fulfilled  his  part  on  the  pro- 
gramme at  the  Old  South  entertainment,  by  reciting 
^America,"  he  said  that  on  returning  from  a  year's 
wandering  in  Europe,  some  time  since,  he  was  asked 
if  any  country  had  supplanted  his  own  in  his  regard. 
To  this  inquiry  he  read  to  the  audience  a  poetical 


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REV.  DR.  S.  F.  SMITH. 


reply  entitled   "My  Native   Land."     It  contains  six 
stanzas,  of  which  the  following  are  the  first  and  third  : 

We  wander  far  o'er  land  and  sea, 

We  seek  the  old  and  new, 
We  try  the  lowly  and  the  great, 

The  many  and  the  few  ; 
O'er  states  at  hand  and  realms  remote, 

With  curious  quest  we  roam, 
But  find  the  fairest  spot  on  earth 

Just  in  our  native  home. 

We  seek  for  landscapes  fair  and  grand, 

Seen  through  sweet  summer  haze, 
Helvetia's  mountains,  piled  with  snow, 

ltalia's  Sunset  rays, 
And  lake,  and  stream,  and  crag,  and  dell, 

And  new  and  fairer  flowers  — 
We  own  them  rich  and  fair — but  not 

More  grand,  more  fair  than  ours. 

These  stanzas  have  been  given  as  a  natural  preface 
to  a  slight  sketch  of  Dr. 
Smith's  surroundings  in  the 
town  where  he  dwells  ;  for 
though  he  speaks  in  them 
of  the  beauties  of  his  whole 
country,  yet  it  may  well 
be  believed  that  the  land- 
scape charms  of  Newton 
Centre,  as  well  as  nearly 
forty  years  of  residence 
there,  conspire  to  make  it 
for  him  the  dearest  spot  of 
the  land. 

The  landscape  tempts  us 
out  of  doors,  but  first  we 
will  glance  about  the  poet's 
home.  Leaving  the  parlor 
we  cross  the  hall  and  pass 
into  a  drawing  room,  in 
rear  of  which  is  a  side-en- 
trance passage,  beyond 
which  is  another  pleasant 
apartment.  In  the  rear  of  the  room  first  entered,  con- 
taining various  souvenirs  of  European  travel,  and  one 
book-case,  is  the  library  proper,  which  has  its  walls, 
where  the  books  allow  them  to  be  seen  at  all,  covered 
with  a  warm  scarlet  paper.  The  heat  diffused  over 
the  house  by  a  furnace  can  at  any  time,  for  comfort  or 
delight,  be  re-inforced  by  the  open  fires  which  poets 
especially  love  for  their  reveries.  Whoever  is  wel- 
comed to  the  dining-room  of  this  hospitable  home  will 
find  good  cheer  and  quaint  china.  The  mention  of 
the  last  recalls  to  me  that  in  the  parlor  is  a  relic  of 
that  possessed  by  Charles  Sumner,  and  given  to  Dr. 
Smith  by  his  friend  the  Hon.  William  Claflin.  When 
Dr.  Smith  alluded,  in  his  modest  way,  to  the  atten- 
tions paid  him  in  his  visit  to  Washington  in  October, 


REV,    DR.    S 


1877,  about  which  I  had  read  in  the  papers,  I  could 
only  think,  "Who,  if  not  he,  should  be  an  honored 
guest  in  the  capital  of  the  nation  ?" 

Certainly  there  is  no  other  man  among  us  whose 
words  are  so  often  read  and  sung,  east  and  west,  north 
and  south  —  thrilling  all  the  instincts  of  patriotism. 
The  study  is  full  of  interesting  objects.  The 
large  picture  suspended  above  the  open  grate  is 
a  very  old  and  beautiful  painting  of  the  Holy  Family 
by  one  of  the  old  masters  —  probably  a  Murillo  —  in 
excellent  preservation.  The  stone  lion  on  the  right 
side  of  the  grate  is  a  carving,  a  foot  and  a  half  in 
height,  brought  from  the  steps  of  an  idol  temple  in 
Burmah,  where  he  stood  guard  in  former  years.  On 
the  opposite  side  is  a  reclining  Buddh,  of  polished 
marble,  rare  and  very  beautiful,  from  the  same  coun- 
try. On  the  top  of  the  bookcase  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  library  is  a  small  but   very  fine  bust  of  Milton  ; 

on  the  right,  a  massive 
elephant's  tooth,  and  on 
the  left,  the  skull  of  a 
man-eating  tiger,  which  in 
his  life-time  was  known  to 
have  feasted  on  the  flesh  of 
several  victims.  On  one 
of  the  two  bookcases  on 
the  intermediate  side  of 
the  library  is  a  sitting 
Buddh,  carved  in  white 
marble.  The  tall,  old- 
fashioned  clock  in  one  of 
the  corners  has  been  an 
heir-loom  in  the  family  a 
hundred  and  fifteen  years. 
The  most-used  chair  in  the 
room  was  the  property, 
more  than  a  hundred 
years  ago,  of  a  clergyman 
F  SMITH  of    the    northern    part    of 

Middlesex  county.  The 
straw  chair  with  projecting  arms  did  service  several 
years  in  the  town  of  Rangoon  in  Burmah,  A  very 
beautiful  slipper,  of  Dresden  china,  does  duty  as  a 
pen-holder  on  the  centre-table.  Engravings  cover 
most  of  the  walls  not  hidden  by  the  bookcases ;  the 
most  interesting  being  Pere  Hyacinthe  and  Heng- 
stenberg,  the  commentator  on  the  Psalms. 

This  dwelling  "  hath  a  pleasant  seat."  It  faces  the 
east,  is  moderately  retired  from  the  street,  and  is  upon 
an  elevation  gently  rising  for  some  distance,  up  which 
sweeps,  in  a  graceful  curve,  the  public  road.  Follow- 
ing this  in  its  descent,  and  then  almost  to  the  top  of 
a  lesser  acclivity,  one  comes  to  a  rural  church  ideally 
situated,  and  forming,  amid  its  trees,  an  attractive 
sight  across  the  pretty  vale  from  the  northern  side  of 


REV.  DR.  S.  F.  SMITH. 


Dr.  Smith's  home.     This  view  is  English  in  its  quiet 
grace  and  natural  beauty. 

Returning  now  by  the  road,  and  going  on  past  the 
house  again,  a  spacious  village  green  is  passed,  and 
you  come  to  another  church,  the  one  over  which  Dr. 
Smith  was  many  years  settled,  fit  in  position  to  glad- 
den an  American  George  Herbert.  It  is  embowered 
in  a  corner  where  roads  cross  on  the  broad  plain 
from  which  rises,  on  the  left  of  the  main  road  we  have 
trodden,  a  long  and  high  hill.  This  is  crowned  by 
the  buildings  of  the  Newton  Theological  Institution 
of  which  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hovey  is  President.  One  who 
toils  up  the  winding  tree-lined  avenue  will  be  reward- 
ed by  reaching  an  eminence  which  will  bear  compari- 
son with  that  where  was  once  the  old  Ursuline  Con- 
vent of  Charlestown,  or  with  Andover's  plateau  and 
elegant  shades,  or  the  delightful  crests  of  Amherst. 
On  the  west,  the  view  is  particularly  fine.  Dr.  Hackett 
used  to  compare  it  to  that  from  the  Acropolis  of 
Athens.  On  the  horizon  rise  Monadnock  and  Wachu- 
sett,  with  many  a  town  and  village  between.  At 
your  foot  are  the  churches  and  a  beautiful  little  sheet 
of  water,  which,  with  the  mount  on  which  we  are 
standing,  gives  the  situation  some  claim  to  be  regard- 
ed as  an  American  miniature  "  Lake  District."  Sail- 
ing or  rowing  out  upon  it,  and  looking  up  the  height, 
the  scene  is  German  or  Italian  in  its  bold  and  roman- 
tic character.  The  hues  in  the  stone  of  the  chapel, 
and  its  architecture,  embracing  a  heavy  tower,  give  it, 
set  upon  the  wooded  hill,  an  air  of  age,  and  recall 
the  castle  sites  on  Como,  or  one  of  those  still  inhabit- 
ed religious  establishments  which  rise  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Danube. 

Not  very  far  from  the  water  is  the  former  home  of 
Dr.  Hackett,  and  following  west  the  road  upon  which 
it  lies,  towards  Brooklawn,  the  country-seat  of  Gov. 
Claflin,  the  traveller  first  comes  to  the  portal  of  the 
cemetery  in  which  the  scholar  now  reposes.  Dr. 
Smith  has  chosen  a  final  resting  place  here  among 
the  urns  of  this  and  other  friends.  Sure  we  are  that 
none  could  wish  for  them,  or  for  himself,  a  fairer  spot 
to  rest  one's  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth.  It  is  a  good 
place  for  the  dawn  of   the  immortal  morning  on  him 


who  wrote,  years  ago,  "  The  morning  light  is  break- 
ing." 

There  is  little,  in  meeting  Dr.  Smith,  to  remind  one 
of  such  thoughts  ;  but,  in  four  years  more,  the  famous 
Harvard  class  of  "  Twenty-nine  "  will  have  sung  the 
words,  "  My  Country,  'tis  of  thee,"  a  half-century, 
and  Dr.  Holmes  is  beginning  to  speak  of  his  own 
failing  voice.  Gently  may  he  and  his  classmates  fail 
and  fade  from  their  activities,  distant  yet  be  the  day 
when  those  who  knew  him  of  whom  this  paper  has 
spoken,  shall  stand  and  muse  :  — 

Here  lies  who  hymned  America  ;  to  sing  or  preach, 
Dante's  suggestive  words  our  question's  tribute  teach, 
Where  was  "  a  better  smith  of  the  maternal  speech  ?  " 

Since  the  main  part  of  this  was  written,  Dr.  Smith's 
home  has  lost  one  who,  for  nearly  forty  years,  was  its 
honored  and  beloved  inmate.     Mrs.  Ann  W.  Smith, 

the  mother  of 
his  wife,  died 
August  20th, 
1878.  Born 
July  28,  1786, 
a  sister  of  the 
eminent  judge, 
the  late  Hon. 
Daniel  Apple- 
ton  White,  and 
married  almost 
seventy  years 
since,  this  venerable  lady  carried  one's  thoughts  back 
to  the  early  days  of  the  elder  Quincy  and  Webster, 
Dana  and  Bryant,  and  Madame  Patterson  Bonaparte. 
At  ninety-two,  however,  her  interest  in  life  was  keen, 
and  her  beauty  of  spirit,  fitly  enshrined  in  a  noble 
figure,  looked  forth  from  a  face  round,  full  and  fair. 
The  writer  will  ever  remember  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  handing  Madame  Smith  to  breakfast,  in  her  son- 
in-law's  home,  two  months  previous  to  her  death,  just 
before  the  family  left  Newton  for  their  cottage  by  the 
sea.  It  was  there,  where  she  was  accustomed  to 
bathe  with  much  zest,  that,  a  few  weeks  later,  she  had 
a  fall  which  soon  proved  fatal  to  the  body,  and  freed 
the  soul,  of  the  aged  Christian. 

G.  H.  Whittemore. 


OUTSIDE  THE    STUDY  WINDOW. 


My  country,  'tis  of  thee, 

Sweet   land    of   liberty, 

Of  thee    I    sing ; 

Land    where   my   fathers    died, 

Land   of    the   pilgrims'   pride, 

From    every   mountain    side 
Let   freedom    ring. 


LAND   WHEKE     MY     FATHERS   DIED, 
LAXD   OF    THE    PILGRIMS'     PRIDE. 


My    native    country ! 

thee, 

Land    of    the    noble, 
free, 

Thy    name    I    love ; 
I    love    thy    rocks    and    rills, 


Thy    woods    and    templed   hills ; 


My   heart    with    rapture    thrills, 
Like    that   above. 


p  ,JT»   #«^ 


I  LOVE  THY  ROCKS  AND  RILLS, 
THY  WOODS  AND  TEMPLED  HILLS. 


Let    music    swell 
the  breeze, 
And    ring   from    all 
the  trees 
Sweet   freedom's   song  : 
Let   mortal    tongues    awake, 

Let  all    that    breathe    partake, 

Let    rocks    their   silence    break, 
The   sound   prolong. 


LET    KOCKS    THEIR    SILENCE    BREAK. 


Our  fathers'  God,    to    thee, 
Author    of    liberty, 

To    thee    we    sing : 
Long   may    our   land    be    bright 

With    freedom's    holy    light ; 

Protect    us    by   thy   might, 
Great    God,    our    King. 


LONG  MAY  OL'R  LAND  BE  BRIGHT 
WITH  FREEDOM'S  HOLY  LIGHT. 


HHn 


■■tt€;Mf       ill 


■  ■  ■ ^H 

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